Gordon Truth: Ace Attorney, Turnabout Casino
by Ioniclunch
Summary: In the world of Phoenix Wright, a new rookie attorney steps into the spotlight. Set in New York, Gordon struggles against his first case, old friends and enemies, and a terminally confused judge. Original case, original characters. Final chapter is up.
1. Chapter 1

Nothing makes me sleepier than a cup of warm coffee.

You'd think it's be the other way around. I mean, coffee has that _caffeine _stuff in it right? Isn't that supposed to make you NOT sleepy?

I don't mind though. I despise the idea of being dependant on brown, bitter tasting liquid to fuel your jets every single morning. If I ever have coffee, it will be at night, the coffee will be white-brown and buzzing with sugar, and maybe if I'm lucky, some sweet orange-flavor in it. But that's if I'm lucky, meaning, if I have the money to afford it.

My name is Gordon Truth. I'm an honest guy. Get it?

Actually, I am a defense attorney, a new one, a very new one. I haven't been to any courts or had any clients or any paychecks, hence the whole_ 'lucky to have money' _thing. I'm six feet tall, I weigh about 150, and I have long black hair. Long as in shoulder-length, I'm no girl. I have a bumpy nose that imitates Owen Wilson and infuriatingly bushy eyebrows. They're infuriating because I can wax or shave them, and they're still bushy. Those two knuckleheads beget insults from enemies and jokes from friends. But despite that, people tell me I'm a handsome guy. I don't believe it really, but my sub-conscious thinks that every girl that glances my way falls deeply in love with my rugged good looks. My sub-conscious has gotten me into a lot of trouble; nothing serious mind you, but more of an _awkward-breakup _sort of trouble.

I have glasses. I don't wear them. I can see fine without them. Don't talk to me about them or I'll get depressed.

More on my eyes, they're deep. Yep, you can trip and fall right into them, or so I'm told. Girls say that my eyes are the main selling point. They must be for them to ignore my eyebrows. I got the brown color from my mother and the vision from my dad. Thanks dad. My dad's also bald. I'm not. Thank you God.

When I'm not working, which is all the time, I wear a solid color T-shirt and jeans. I'll never wear shorts, and don't ask why. Sweat pants make me sweat, so I only wear them when my two good jeans are in the wash. When I am working, laugh with me for a second, I wear a deep dark brown suit that matches my eyes and a plain red tie. That suit is now gathering dust at the back of my closet.

I like the way my hair has split-ends. I think it adds to my charm. I also like to welcome my bangs into my face. Even in court, I'll keep the same hairstyle.

Today is a Saturday, and I'm at my office with my feet up on the desk. Well, it's not so much my office as it is my partner's office. Right now, he's working for a client in Wisconsin, and he left me behind at the office to fill in for him. His name is Benjamin Bell, and he's a cool guy. He's only two years older than me, which would make him 26, and he's already a successful lawyer. I don't know how we became partners, since I'm a newbie and he's a veteran. But Benjamin's a trusting person, so we share the Truth & Bell law offices. Catchy huh?

But nobody knows the 'Truth' part of Truth & Bell. They only know the Bell part, since he's always being hired. Part of our agreement is that we are paid for what we do individually. It's a partnership, but he's the entrepreneur. So he's bathing in money every night and I'm bathing in… well, water. It's not like he wouldn't give me money if I asked for it, but I don't want to be a burden to the guy. He's done a lot for me, but that's another story for another time.

Distressed, I put down the phone. Another person asking, "Is this Bell?" After they say that, I usually say "No." and hang up. It's not like I can't defend anyone. I'm just so nervous, and I'd like to be accompanied with someone I can trust for my first case, preferably Benjamin Bell.

Bell is shorter than I am and a little heavier. He had close-cropped blonde hair and a winning smile. But he has such a presence in court, almost as if he runs the show and not the judge. When pressured, he stops smiling and starts _acting_. He's never left a case without a 'Not Guilty' verdict. Feeling a little jealous, I shouted 'Objection!' to the office. My voice was shaky, so I guess I'll need to work on it.

Why did I become a defense attorney? Well, long story. Really long story, in fact, and I'd rather not talk about it. Or think about it as the case may be.

The sleek, black phone shook suddenly as another caller attempted to reach me. I swept the phone off the desk, a little annoyed, and held it up to my ear.

"Hello," I said simply in a bored, dull tone.

"Is this Gordon Truth?"

I opened my mouth, ready to say 'No, Bell's not here,' when I realized who the guy on the other line was talking about. Who would be asking for a low-quality attorney no-one even knew about?

"Who is this?" I raised an eyebrow. "And I'm sorry, but Bell's not here."

"Who?" said the caller. "I don't know who you're talking about. I've been trying to reach you for a while now-"

This was starting to get very odd. I was clenching the phone a little harder than usual. "Please, who is this?"

"Gordon, it's Mike, Mike Angelo."

I almost dropped the phone, and here I was getting spooked by the guy who used to be my best friend. "Mike! How are you? We haven't called in ages! You almost scared me there for a second!"

"Well if that didn't scare you this will. You know Ken Cline?"

"You mean that pretty-boy in high school?"

"Yeah, him. He's got into a bit of trouble."

I raised my eyelids. "Really, what kind of trouble?

"Legal trouble Gordon."

Suddenly I began to sweat again, now I knew why this old friend suddenly called me out of the blue.

"Is that why your-?"

"Yes it is."

My hands became clammy. No, I couldn't defend him. Why me? There were plenty of much better attorneys out there.

"But aren't you in law?" I asked, suddenly remembering an important detail. "You're a-"

"Prosecutor," he finished the statement. "Not a lawyer. I can't defend him, I want to, but I can't."

"Then why me?" I was beginning to get angry. "I'm no good as a lawyer; I haven't even defended anyone yet!"

There was a pause on the other line. "You seriously underestimate yourself Gordon. You of all people should remember what you did 10 years ago."

I suddenly had the unpleasant feeling that a large animal had bitten off the back of my head. "Please Mike, please don't bring that up." My last statement left an awkward feeling lingering between the telephone wires. We were both silent for a long moment.

"Gordon, you're the only one who can defend Ken. Nobody but you and me would believe that he's innocent. No attorney would take this case because it looks like an automatic loss. Those lawyers don't want a big case like this against their record."

I went red in the face, so what was my record? Tossed salad?

"Gordon, please. My voice might not communicate it well, but I'm begging you. Help a friend out, you're the only man who can do it. Defend Ken Cline."

-------------------------

It was lucky the trial was taking place only a few miles from where I lived, since I wouldn't have been able to afford a plane ticket. Two people I used to know, did they really live this close? I wasn't able to meet up with Mike, but I found the detention cell for Ken and walked in. An officer quietly walked a man to the chair on the other side, the man looked up at me, and I saw the same face I had know since years and years ago.

"Ken? Is that you?"

He also looked surprised to see me. "Gordon Tooth?"

I sat down; my eyes wide open in anticipation. "You look exactly the same since I last saw you! And it's 'Truth' by the way."

"That you underneath all that?" he pointed at my hair and smiled. "You still like keeping your hair long do you?"

"You're one to talk," I said, laughing. "You have the same long black hair, and it's still all in your face."

"You used to have bigger split ends."

"You used to talk with a lisp."

For a few minutes or so, our conversation carried on like this. After we were finished happily reminiscing, we came to a strong silence.

"Funny we would finally meet like this," I said, frowning.

"Yeah," Ken shifted uncomfortably in his chair. "Right…"

"There's something I want to know."

"What?" He suddenly looked depressed for the first time.

"Did you do it?"

I had yet to figure out what exactly 'it' was. But I decided that I should see whether Kevin would answer me honestly.

Ken sighed and looked at his shoes. "No."

"It took you a while to answer me."

He didn't answer to this, but said something unexpected. "I should be a witness to this crime."

"What?" I leaned back. "What do you mean?"

"I saw who really shot him. I should have been a witness, not a suspect."

I shuddered a little. "Well, who really… uh, shot… him?"

"I couldn't see them clearly, but it was a group of people. They were all on motorbikes…"

"Please tell me what you witnessed, everything."

He sighed deeply, and then began his story in a monotone voice. "It was very dark out, a few days ago. I was walking my dog Toucan around the block. Then I heard motorcycle engines and someone running really close by. As I rounded the corner, I saw a man in a flood of headlights. He was stepping back and saying things like 'Please don't hurt me' and stuff. The biker in the front, he looked like the leader of the gang, said 'You owe me money'. Then he said "Scotty! Throw me my gun!" Then he shot the guy in the face."

I began to sweat again. Why didn't Mike mention this was a murder trial?

"Well, what happened then?"

"The head guy saw me and looked scared for a minute, and then he threw his gun at me."

"He what?"

"Yeah, I thought it was weird too. But he threw the gun at me and said 'Catch!'."

"And then what?"

"I caught it."

"So, does that mean…"

"My fingerprints are on it? Yeah. And the guy was wearing gloves, so he didn't leave anything."

I ran my fingers through my hair. This was just fantastic.

"So is that all you saw?"

"Yeah, and Toucan ran away."

"What?"

"My dog. The gunshot must of scared him so he took off, yanked the leash right out of my hand too."

"Gee, well…"

"So you'll defend me?"

I glanced at him. His eyes were open wide, and he was leaning forward in his chair. Did I really have a choice? Well, yeah, I did. But what would I do with myself if this innocent (well, I believed he was innocent) man was jailed because I was too scared to defend him._ 'But, he could end up in prison even if I do defend him.' _said a nasty voice inside my head.

That was true; I was just a novice after all. But there was that slim chance that I could win this thing, even if it was a murder trial.

"Of course." I smiled at Ken. "I'll see you at the trial tomorrow."

---------------------------------

That night I received the evidence list. I felt rather panicky that I only had a manner of hours to prepare my defense. The list wasn't very elaborate, but it was incriminating. As I feared, the murder weapon was listed with Kevin's fingerprints on it. There was also a red dog leach with fingerprints on it. The handle had Kevin's prints, while the other side had the prints of a witness on them. I wanted to see this witness, but he was already in isolation, ready to speak for tomorrow's trial. The prosecution usually adds evidence to the Court Record during court proceedings, so maybe these two clues I have won't be completely worthless for my case. This case was riding on a precipice, I had no real strategy, and my evidence was, ironically, incriminating of only one person, who happened to be my client.

The sound of the phone ringing broke the dark silence over the office. I lifted my head from the desk I had just dozed off on. I picked up the phone and reluctantly straightened up in my chair.

"What?"

"This the defense attorney of a Ken Cline?"

"Yeah,"

"I'm the detective of this case."

"Okay."

"We've found new evidence."

"Okay."

"I've already alerted the defendant and prosecution."

"Okay."

"Sir, are you alright?"

"Okay."

There was a pause, the voice on the other line sighed. "Sir, we need your cooperation. Please listen, this evidence is very important. We suspect that the murderer attempted to hide it. It was found in a dumpster close to the scene of the crime. We don't know anything important about this evidence yet, but the fact that whoever committed this crime tried to conceal it brings about suspicion."

"How do you know it's connected to the crime?"

"There's blood on it,"

"There's blood on a lot of things."

"This has the blood of the victim."

I reached for my mug of coffee, but decided against it, this discussion was getting somewhere. "Fine, it's connected then. What is it?"

"A torn leather glove,"

"Whose?"

"Most likely the victim's,"

"Most likely?"

We were talking very fast. I was beginning to wake up. This glove could be the key to the entire case. But the whiny-voiced detective was starting to grate on my nerves.

"The only thing we could find was the blood. There was no other material in the glove, no dead skin cells even. So we just assume that the victim bought it, but never got around to using it."

"Can I see it?"

"Not today. The prosecution will present it in court tomorrow, you will be able to view it as much as you like then."

"Oh, by the way, who is the prosecutor?"

"Just some guy."

"Name?"

"I forgot."

I groaned. "Is that all?"

"Yep."

"Fine, goodbye." _'Click'_

I hung up the phone and returned to the desk. Hopefully the glove would come up in court tomorrow with some more details. I put my head back on the desk, but I was now too excited to sleep. I poured myself some coffee, French Vanilla, and sat back down. God help me tomorrow, and God help Ken Cline as he sits there in the defendant's chair when his verdict is reached.

I had a fuzzy dream that night. I remember Ken, who was being dragged off by two large skeletons with long, black cloaks with hoods. Then he changed into Mike, whose face was blurry, but I could feel that he was frowning and shaking his head in shame. He disappeared, and then someone else I knew began walking toward me. I saw his pre-maturely grey hair, his cold ice-blue eyes, and his devilish smile that made you think of a hyena. His hands were closing in on my neck; he was saying something.

"I'm coming for you."

-----------------------------

"Gordon, wake up."

"No."

"You're going to be late for your trial."

"Huh?"

I rubbed my face with my knuckles and sat up. Benjamin Bell was sitting across from me, with his light-grey jacket slung over his shoulder. He smiled and handed me some coffee.

"I can't drink that."

"Oh yeah, I forgot about you and coffee."

He grabbed the mug and placed it on a table near the window. He then took a long sip from his own and sat back down.

"I thought you were in Wisconsin." I raised a hand and rested my chin on it.

"I was."

"Trial was over that quickly?"

"Yep, guess what the verdict was."

"Not Guilty?"

He sent me a large smile. "You bet your ass."

"Congrats, what time is it?"

"8:14"

"I have to get going then."

I stood and went to the closet in the back of the office. I pulled out my perfect brown suit, a little dusty, but no wrinkles. Benjamin watched me from his seat, finishing off his coffee.

"So you're defending Ken Cline?"

I scooped my car keys off the table. "Yeah, you know him?"

"We've met."

"I'm pretty nervous."

"That's normal."

"This is my first case."

"And you're going to do great."

I smiled. "Thanks Ben."

"No Prob." He stood up and put on his jacket. "Let's go."

"You're coming?"

"You can have an assistant."

"What?"

"I'll help you in court. We'll be the unstoppable defenders." He smiled and tapped my shoulder.

"You mean you're the unstoppable defender." I mumbled.

He frowned. "Gordon, do you know why I let you become my partner?"

"Actually, that question _has_ been keeping me up at night."

He laughed at my little joke. "It's because you're a good attorney."

"How do you know?"

"You've done some astounding things."

I knew what he was talking about, case NL-307. 10 years ago. I looked away. "We need to go if we want to keep Ken out of the slammer. Let's move."

Benjamin slapped my shoulder, "Good man. Taking charge, you're shaping up good, Truth." I managed a weak smile in return and shook his hand.

"Unstoppable Defenders of Justice?"

"Totally."

---------------------------------

"I'm not going out there." I said.

"You have too." Benjamin said.

"No."

"What about Ken?"

"Ken can burn in hell!"

He shook his head at me. "You know you don't mean that."

Benjamin was right; of course I didn't mean that. What didn't help was that the client I had just said could burn in hell was standing over me holding my body up from the floor. He dropped me, and my head hit the tiled floor with a 'clunk'.

"Oops, sorry. My arms must of gone slack." He smiled, "C'mon, get up. The Gordon Truth I knew in school was never concerned about nerves, and he definitely didn't faint right before a trial started."

I stood up and rubbed my head. "That wasn't a real trial."

"It was damn close."

I checked my watch, 9:57, just three minutes from Hell.


	2. Chapter 2

"Ian Vice."

The gray-haired prosecutor gave me a sideways glance. The man looked so much different, and yet, he appeared so much the same. His eyes returned to the man he was conversing with, a handsome man with short blond hair and blue eyes. He changed his hairstyle since I last saw him, it was short now, and spiked forward in the front. He was, perhaps, the only person whose gray hair made him appear younger. His suit was also gray, a deeper shade than his hair, and his plain black tie enhanced his vicious aura. The man I was going against was the most feared prosecutor in New York. I stood at my counter, straightened the papers on my desk, and laid them flat, slapping my desk as I did so, attempting to gain the man's attention.

He finished talking to the blond man, and, disregarding my presence, walked to his desk, and stared through me.

I watched as the audience filed into the courtroom. Bald men, bored women; nobody I knew. I had the faintest recollection of standing up on stage, in a wig, mouth hanging open, lines long since forgotten. But this was a trial, there was no script, I was always better at improvisation anyway.

Lost in my own thoughts, I almost screamed when I heard the judge's mallet swing down.

"Calm down, buddy." Benjamin said from the corner of his mouth. He tugged at my suit. "And sit down, you look like a retard."

I fell to my chair and looked behind me. I must have been the only one still standing. I blushed; then hid my face with a tissue from my desk.

I took in the aura of the courtroom. The desk where I was seated was made of fresh-red mahogany, as was the chair. Benjamin sat to the left of me, partially blocking the view of my client, who had began studying his shoes intricately.

"You're easily distracted, aren't you Gordon?"

"Mmph?"

"Tell the judge you're ready."

I looked at the judge. He had a thick white-gray beard that almost looked like a bib. He would have been rather funny looking if he wasn't staring blades in my direction.

"The defense is ready your honor." I managed.

Before I could stop my self, I laughed.

"Being unprepared for a simple question isn't what I'd immediately call ready Mr. Truth," said the judge.

I crossed my arms and chuckled again. "Aww, c'mon, I'm new at this, give a guy a brake."

Benjamin punched my shoulder. "Don't be stupid, you're a white-collar lawyer. Act like one."

"I'd appreciate it if you ceased this meaningless back-talk Mr. Truth." The judge pounded his gavel. "Anyway, if we're all ready, I'd like to hear the prosecution's opening statements."

"Thank you your honor."

Ian's voice was no different. It was deeper, of course, but the tone retained its pompous wave. His voice almost made it seem like he had an accent, but when you paid attention, you would find it had all the right emphasis of modern American English.

"Today, the prosecution is going to prove the guilt of a Mr. Ken Cline, who shot and killed the victim, Owen Slotts, on the evening of June 4th. Of course, the prosecution will provide decisive evidence and testimony. But, the prosecution has a slight request."

The judge looked surprised. "What? What kind of request?"

Ian's smile grew even larger, if that was even possible. "The prosecution would like to request an additional ten minutes before the evidence and testimony is given, I need said amount of time to finish preparing my witness."

The blond man by his side suddenly came to the center of attention. He wore a blue scarf and a white T-shirt. His hair was short and spiked, and he looked nervous. This must be the witness to the crime, obviously.

"It's definitely unlike you to be unprepared, but of course, no trail can succeed if a party is not ready." He pounded his gavel, "A short recess is in order, ten minutes. We will continue afterward."

Ian left the room, along with his witness. Someone tapped my shoulder; I turned around and saw Ken leaning to me.

"What is it Ken?"

"That witness, did you see him?"

"Yes, I think we all did."

"That's him."

I turned to see if anyone was listening in. "What do you mean?"

"That's the killer. He's the one that shot that guy."

-------------------------------------

The trial had resumed. The judge slammed his mallet again. "Now, I would really like to hear the prosecution's opening statement, so we can get this over with."

"Not to worry your honor, the prosecution is ready."

"Is the defense ready as well?"

I looked at the judge and shrugged, "I dunno, if it were up to me, I'd much rather be laying home in bed…"

Benjamin covered his face with his hand. "This isn't a comedy club, Gordon, it's a trial. You're acting unprofessionally. Get your act together."

"I'd take my advisor's advice if I were you Mr. Truth." The judge looked furious.

My eyes darted left and right and I tapped the desk nervously. "S-sorry your honor, it won't happen again."

"It had better not."

"Anyway…" Typical Ian Vice, stressing the word 'anyway' like that, "If the defense is finished stalling, I'd like to begin."

"Please, go ahead." The judge sounded bored.

"As I said before," That stupid smile never faltered, I really didn't like it, "The prosecution has decisive evidence and testimony. Before we begin with my witness, however, I'd like to present some evidence to the court."

Finally, we're in business.

He pulled a black-leather glove out of a plastic bag. "This is a torn glove with bloodstains of the victim's."

The judge looked at the ceiling thoughtfully. "Yes, I was informed of this new evidence, is there anything special about it?"

Ian Vise shook his head. "Nothing at all, your honor; it is completely irrelevant. I have received test results on it. It contains the blood of the victim, and the leftovers of an unknown substance. Besides that, there is nothing. There are no skin cells or DNA-testable material on this glove. By speculation, one can only conclude that the victim recently bought it, and was carrying it with him when it was murdered."

"The defense requests more information about this glove."

Ian's smile disappeared for a split second.

"What?"

I looked at him with squinted eyes. "Your description was vague. I for one would like to hear more about this evidence."

"Objection your honor," said Ian, "I've already looked into this glove and-"

"OBJECTION! All evidence needs proper analysis for it to be presented in the courtroom."

Ian sneered. "Whatever."

"Wait, doesn't anyone want to know my say in this?"

Everyone in the court looked to the judge.

The judge blinked, taken aback by the sudden attention. "It is true that all evidence needs to be analyzed. Ian, answer his questions."

Ian laughed, "Fine, your honor, but it will only succeed in wasting time. Well, what are you waiting for defense? Ask your pointless questions!"

I rubbed the bottom of my chin. "Well, for starters, how much blood is on the glove, and in what specific areas?"

"The blood is on the bottom of the glove, mostly on the fingertips. So, it would obviously be very little."

"The glove is supposed to be torn, right? Could you explain this in a bit more detail?"

The prosecutor sighed. "The rip is at the top of the glove, where the back of one's hand would be. The rip is large, spreading nearly from one end of the glove to the other."

_That's a big rip._

_Wait a minute, why would the glove be torn on the top, but blood be found on the bottom? No one ever wore it; and this is proven, but how is a glove not even in use torn like that? And how did it get those bloodstains?"_

"Hmm. Where was the glove found?"

Ian flinched, and lost his smile. "It was found in a dumpster at least 20 yards away from the crime scene."

The audience began to mumble. I think I have something here.

"And why is that? Why was this glove, which you say is irrelevant to the case, found in a dumpster yards away from the initial crime scene. I can think of only one reason!" I balled my hand into a fist and punched my desk. Ow, that hurt. Don't touch it though; you're on a role here.

"The murderer tried to conceal it! This fact makes this piece of evidence more than beneficial to the case!"

Ian laughed at my strained attempt to keep myself from holding my arm in pain. "What if someone picked it up, thinking to keep it, then threw it away after finding the rip and bloodstains?"

"Picked it up from where, the crime scene? The crime scene is blocked off from the public! ALSO! You just stated that the glove has no record of DNA material on it."

Ian flinched, this time it was obvious. Score one for Truth!

"What if the person who found it was wearing gloves?"

"IT'S THE MIDDLE OF SUMMER!"

The judge pounded his mallet. "After hearing both sides of this argument, it's obvious the prosecution's argument holds no water whatsoever. This must be important evidence if the murderer tried to conceal it. Ergo, this evidence will be added to the court record."

Ian really fought to keep that evidence off the record, what must he be hiding?

He cleared his throat. "Well, of course, this isn't the only evidence the prosecution wants to present, we have the autopsy report here…"

"Oh yeah," Benjamin slid a manila file to me, "Forgot to hand this over, good job with the glove by the way." He flashed me a wink and a thumbs-up.

Double-score for Truth!

I opened the folder and quickly read the documents as the judge and prosecutor were having a discussion on what a 'printer' was. Owen Slotts: rich man, gambled a lot. Frequently wears a white tux. Shot in the forehead, slight head trauma and massive bleeding prompted death within twenty minutes. Yummy.

Ian Vice held his forehead in his hand. "If we're all up-to-date on the pre-modern inventions, I'd like to continue."

"Yes, quite," said a more-than-a-little-embarrassed judge. "Let's continue."

"This is a red leash found at the scene of the crime. It bears fingerprints of the suspect and my witness, and the latter will explain it in more depth in a few moments. Also, I have here my most decisive piece of evidence, this gun." He pulled out a simple modern pistol. "The ballistic markings match the bullet that killed the victim, and the handle bears the fingerprints of the defendant."

The court burst into murmurs at this statement.

"That surely is incriminating," said the judge.

"Alas, that brings an end to all the evidence I have to present, your honor." He smiled wide. "I'd now like to call the detective in charge of the investigation, up to the stand for a quick word."

"That all seems in order," said the judge. He swung his mallet. "Very well, bring the detective in charge of the investigation to the stand."

The doors to the courtroom opened. In stepped a thin, timid-looking man. He was slightly balding, with huge glasses, and carried a solid brown briefcase.

"Oh my God." I said out loud. "It's Terry Scours."


	3. Chapter 3

Terry gave me a confused glance as he passed my desk. _Yeah, it's me,_ I said with my face. Ken tapped my shoulder again and gestured toward Terry. I nodded, confirming his suspicion.

Ken leaned back. "Well I'll be damned."

Terry took his seat at the witness stand.

"Detective," began Ian, "I'd like you to start with everything we went over; basically, the motive."

"Of course Mr. Vice; sure thing; absolutely."

"Well, begin your testimony, if you please." The judge said.

Terry was already sweating under the pressure. "Sure thing; absolutely, of course…"

"I'm finally going to cross-examine someone!" I rubbed my hands together. "And knowing Terry, he'll break like an egg within minutes."

"I wouldn't be so cocky." Benjamin said, hand under his chin. "It isn't as easy as it looks; it's hard to find things to press on."

Terry began to speak.

"Well, I'm really here to clear up the motive. On the day in question, both the defendant and victim were gambling in a small casino. The defendant lost a fair amount of money to the victim, about $4,500 to be exact. This evidence alone gives the suspect a clear motive for murder."

"Well, I doubt that justifying motive is necessary, given the rather conclusive evidence already presented." The judge looked over at me. "The defense may now begin its cross-examination."

"Gladly!"

I stood up.

"You are the detective in charge of this case, correct?"

Terry Scours looked at me fiercely, trying to place my familiar face. "Yeah."

"First off, I think all of us in the court are curious as to how you know all of this information."

Terry blinked sweat out of his eyes. "What do you mean?"

"Where's your proof that my client went to a casino that day?"

"I…I… Oh!"

I blinked, "Excuse me?"

"I completely forgot! I'm so sorry, but there's a photo I need to present!"

The judge shook his head. "Mr. Scours, you are a detective. You should be fully aware of what to do on a witness stand."

"I-I'm so sorry your honor… umm, this is a still image of the interior of the casino where the gambling took place."

He handed me a black-and-white picture. It looked as if it had been enlarged, due to the questionable quality. However, the faces of my client and the victim were visible. They were both at a roulette table, both looking rather enthusiastic. They didn't seem to be aware of the other's presence, however, since they were separated by other people at the table. I saw a watch on Ken's wrist. It was hard to make out, but I think it said 6:42pm.

After skimming the photo, I handed it to the judge to see.

"The photo will be added to the court record." The judge said.

"We have also interrogated some other patrons at the casino that testify Ken and Owen had been gambling against each other." Terry continued.

I walked toward Terry, keeping my eye on him. "How did you know that Ken lost approximately $4,500 to the victim on that day?"

"We have a record of the winnings and losses of each patron each day for the week of the crime; the casino keeps them as a reference. The reference clearly says that on June 3rd, Ken Cline lost an estimated amount of $4,500, and that Owen had tied with his gamble and walked away with $2,250." Terry gulped as I came closer to him.

"Do you have the record with you today?" I asked.

"Yes, of course…" Terry rummaged though his briefcase and handed me a paper. "This documents the approximate wins and losses of the week so far, starting with Monday, May 31st."

The paper was full of complicated statistics. But something about it unnerved me. The judge confirmed my suspicion after he read through the report.

"My word! Look at the record for yesterday! Almost every winning has the name Owen Slotts underneath it!"

The court audience murmured. _Guy must have been having a lucky day, _I thought.

"Well, this definitely proves that the defendant had a clear motive for murder." Said Ian Vice. "Detective, you may step down now."

"Hold it."

Ian blinked stupidly, as if he had just been hit over the head with a frying pan. "What?"

"I said, HOLD IT!"

I walked up to the judge, who, along with the rest of the court, seemed surprised by my outburst. "May I see that record one again?" The judge slowly placed the paper into my outstretched palm.

"This record is correct in saying whoever won and lost whatever amount of money." I stated. "But there is an error, a contradiction! This record also shows another meeting between the defendant and victim, one where the victim clearly lost an amount of $10,000 to the defendant!"

"What?" the judge said, blinking like a child.

Ian hunched over his desk, sweating and shaking. His right palm plastered against his forehead, and his famous smile twitched, as if he was trying with all his might to sustain it.

The court went into a din of blurred speech.

"It's proven! The gamble that our attention has been lead to is on Thursday, June 3rd. However, let me call attention to Tuesday, June 1st! On this day, a Mr. Owen Slotts lost over $10,000 to a Mr. Ken Cline."

The court's ramblings grew louder. The judge pounded his gavel. "Order in the court! Order!"

"This information allows me to conclude, that all this talk about motive is chock full of crapola!" I covered my mouth; did I really just say that?

The judge looked at a loss for words. "I can't say I particularly care for Mr. Truth's primitive slang, but this does indeed turn the entire case around!"

"OBJECTION!"

Ian had literally shouted. The entire courtroom immediately quieted.

"Your honor!" He spoke as if he had just been injured. "You said yourself that the evidence is decisive enough to convict the defendant! No matter how we look at it, the gun still has the defendant's fingerprints on it!"

The courtroom was silent for a moment; the judge looked over to Ian.

"Ian, this is most unlike you. You always check over all of the evidence, you would never present evidence or a witness that would damage your argument."

Ian looked insulted. "Your Honor, my argument doesn't change. Even though the defendant did end up with more money than the victim did, he did not know from whom he won against that first gamble. The motive was more of a spur-of-the-moment, he lost a considerable amount of money, he saw the victim who he lost the most money against, and he killed him."

"Oh," The judge blinked, "well, that would make sense. Does the defense have any objections?"

I went over all the evidence in my head, nothing really stood out to me. "…No, your honor."

"Now that we're all done messing around," Ian stood up, "I'd like to welcome the eyewitness to the murder, Mr. Mortimer Runway."

The man in the blue denim walked up to the stand.

"Will the witness please state his name and profession?" Said the judge.

"My name is NOT Mortimer!" the witness shouted.

"Um, ok." The Judge said.

"IT'S MORTERCYCLE! THAT'S WHAT THEY CALL ME!" the man's eyes were white with rage. The entire audience strained backward in their seats as if being stricken from the front by a strong wind. Police officers were crowding around exits and the bailiff's fingers twitched toward his pistol.

"I'm sorry Mr. Mortercycle." Ian said. "I was unaware of the status of your name, please forgive me."

The man began breathing heavily. "I'm… sorry. I usually don't lose myself like that." He straightened his posture and ran his hand through his hair. "It must have been the pressure. I'm better now. Honest."

"Witness," Ian walked up to the front of the room next to the witness. "Is it true that you saw that man," he pointed to Ken. "commit murder on 3rd of June?"

The witness leaned forward. "Yeah, that's right. And it's all here." He pointed to his head. "It's in my noggin."

"Mr. Runway, if you don't mind, could you spill the contents of your 'noggin' to the court?" the Judge said.

"Right!" said Mortimer. "So, it's all like… WHOA! 'Cause I was, like, walking down this street when that dude over there, like, shot the dead dude!"

The court was silent.

"Could you be a bit more specific?" the Judge asked. "Tell us about the murder, when did you see it and where?"

"Ok." Mortimer twisted his face in thought. "Ok, I got this. Wait… OK! So, I just finished my lunch at this sandwich joint, so I was ridin' my 'MORTERCYCLE' home. I pulled into this one deserted street, and I, like, see two people standing there! That guy over there," another point to Ken, "he was holdin', like, a gun, man! And he shot the guy in the head, like, right in front of me!"

"Ouch," I said. "I don't think there was a contradiction in that testimony."

"Just press him." Benjamin said. "He'll spit up something useful."

"Mr. Runway," I stood up and walked to the front of the stand. "You did not mention a red leash in your testimony."

Mortimer stared at me. "Huh?"

"The prosecutor said you would talk about why your fingerprints were on this red leash." I pointed to the leash on the evidence table.

"Oh…" he scratched his head. "I saw that on the ground, after that killing I picked it up. I guess I was in shock."

"Do you know why the defendant's fingerprints are on it?"

"I dunno. Maybe he had a dog, and it ran away or something."

"Ran away during the shooting?"

"I guess."

"So you didn't actually see the dog."

"I don't remember. All I remember is the gunshot, and who fired it."

_This guy's tough._

"So let's go through your testimony." I paced in front of the witness. You finished lunch at a 'sandwich joint'? Where was this place?"

"It's McSmacky's; it's right next to the street the guy was killed at."

"And when did you finish your lunch?"

"Uhh… Let's see. They had a clock on the front of the building. I remember one hand was pointed at 12, because… you know, I was 12 once. So, I think it was one o'clock."

"Ben, check the autopsy report. We got anything?"

Benjamin flipped through the manila folder. "Nothing, it just says he was killed sometime on June 3rd."

_Dammit._

"Wait."

Ben sat up in his chair. "What is it Gordon?"

"I think we have another piece of evidence that contradicts his testimony."

"Really?"

"Yeah, and if I'm right; it'll blow a huge hole in his logic. Let's just hope this will work."


	4. Chapter 4

I stood up and addressed the court.

"This witness has stated that he saw the moment of the murder, he says the murder took place at or around the time of one o'clock. Yet this is false testimony!"

Ian stood. "Objection! I've checked the autopsy report myself! There is no time stamp on the report; the murder could have happened any time during that day!"

"I'm not talking about the autopsy report. My point lies in another piece of evidence; namely, the photo of Ken Klein and Owen Slotts on the day of the murder."

I displayed my copy of the picture.

"How could this picture contradict my witness?"

"Mr. Truth, please point out where the contradiction lies within the photo." The judge said.

I smiled. "Take a closer look at Mr. Klein. See his watch in the photo? What time does it display?"

"6:42," the judge read aloud. "Why, what does that have to do with anything?"

"Mr. Runway has just stated that he witnessed the murder of Owen Slotts around one o'clock. So why, then, is the victim gambling over five hours after he supposedly died?"

"OBJECTION!"

Ian raised his voice higher than I have ever heard it. "That theory is only speculation! The defendant's watch could have been running fast!"

"Mr. Klein, could you please tell us the time?"

Ken glanced at his watch. "12:47."

"That's what my watch says." I told the court, looking at my wrist.

"Mine says that too!" declared the judge.

"As does… mine;" said Ian Vice, "but why would the witness lie about the time of death? It's meaningless information! The witness is obviously mistaken."

I pounded my desk again; it hurt less this time. "I seriously doubt that. Even in summer, any moron could tell the difference from afternoon to late evening. The witness is obviously lying on the stand!"

The court murmured excitedly, and Mortimer looked sick.

The judge looked to the witness stand. "Mr., erm… Mortercycle. Could you please clear some of this up?"

"Uh, erm… doy…" the witness scratched furiously at his head. "Uhh, look. I'm sorry guys; I got a little confused about what day we're talking about. You're talking about June 3rd? Sorry, yeah, I saw the murder, and everything I've just said is the truth, but now that I know what day it really was, I'm definitely sure it was dark."

I sat down and held my head a minute before speaking.

"Sir, how could you possibly get the days mixed up? Most people who see a murder keep the details even if only for a few weeks. Seeing as this was two days ago, I don't see how you"-

"If I may interrupt," Ian Vice said. "As the court can see, this witness is a bit of a meathead. I, myself, am not surprised at his behavior. And I can assure this line of questioning will not call up any unknown details."

The court rang with the sound of mild banter. The judge sounded his mallet.

"While I do find the witness's behavior a tad suspicious, I don't think he is purposefully lying to the court."

"Your Honor," I stood up again. "People don't forget what time of day they witness a murder."

The judge sat back and closed his eyes. "Mr. Mortercycle, why did you get the dates mixed? Can you remember?"

"I-I," Mortimer looked incredibly nervous; he was sweating so much I was afraid he might pass out.

"O-OBJECTION!"

Ian was leaning forward over his desk so that his head was hanging over the floor. "These questions are useless! Stop this questioning now!" He had lost his smile. "Can you not see that you are distressing my witness? Everyone makes mistakes; think of how much you are embarrassing him for his lack of intellect!"

"Mr. Vice," the judge looked angry, "I will not have persecutors shouting at me in my courtroom. I should have you held in contempt for that outburst. But," he closed his eyes again, "I do realize that people can make a serious mistake, like this man, and how they must feel about it. So I will discontinue this line of questioning."

"Gordon, did you hear the desperation in his voice?" Benjamin leaned over closer to me. "Ian Vice is hiding something."

Ken added some commentary. "The question is what. Besides saying I murdered the victim, I can't see a problem with his current testimony."

"And why is that?" Ben said. "This testimony is much too vague, that's why." He stared at the witness with a blank face. "We need to focus on something specific to get this guy talking."

"What about the witness's mesh-up?" I held my head. "The witness knows something that would cause him to mix up the murder."

"Gordon, I just had a crazy idea." Ken said.

"Okay, I'm good for anything at this point."

"I know this man killed Mr. Slotts, and he had a motorcycle gang with him that night, so I bet killing someone isn't anything new for him. What if he got this murder confused with another murder he committed?"

Ben sighed. "It's interesting. It sort of makes sense. But I doubt we can prove any of it."

Ken sat back, a disappointed look on his face. "Why don't we ask him?"

"That definitely won't work." I looked at my shoes and hit the side of my head. _Think, how do we get this guy to talk? What should I focus on?_

"Is that it? Am I done?" Mortimer looked out at the court. "Can I go home now?"

"Not yet." I stood up. _It's worth a shot _"Mr. Runway, if you really witnessed the murder, you should be able to tell us about it in more detail-."

"Objection your honor!" Ian stood up along with me. "The witness has supplied more than enough testimony to indict the defendant."

"OBJECTION!" I pounded my desk. My fist was adapting to these blows admirably, it had just began to stop bleeding. "Questions are all I have! Besides, I'm sure the judge will agree that his testimony is very vague!"

"I will allow this further questioning, but," the judge turned to look at me. "Mr. Truth, if we do not find any new information; we will only have wasted the court's time, and you will be penalized."

"P-penalized?" I turned to Ben "What does he mean penalized?"

Benjamin sighed, "Did you pay any attention during law school?"

"No." I said matter-of-factly.

"If you get penalized in court, your record will take a significant blow; also, if you're penalized enough, you could lose the case, or your attorney career itself."

I swallowed. Penalties are bad, got it.

"I guess… the defense accepts."

"Fine." The judge slammed his gavel. "Mortercycle Runway, please testify more in-depth about what you witnessed."

"O-okay." The witness sat and scratched his head. "What else is there to know? I saw a guy shoot a guy, and one of those guys is in court right now. You want me to be specific? Well, let's see; a guy with a dog shot Mr. Slotts in the head."

"Hold on a minute." I stood up. "You earlier testified that you didn't see a dog."

"Oh, uh." He began scratching his head again.

The judge's gavel swung down. "I have to say I'm a bit curious of this dog that supposedly belongs to the defendant. I think the court would like to know a bit more about it."

"Okay." Ken stood up. "That is, if I'm allowed to testify about my dog at this time?"

"Uh," I addressed the judge. "I-if it's the dog you want to know about, why not ask the owner? I'd like to know more about it myself."

"Hmm, I don't think there's any harm in it. Go on defendant; tell us about your dog."

"Objection! This is a waste of time your honor!" Ian pounded his desk. "So what if the defendant had a dog with him when he killed the victim?"

"Objection!" I pointed across the courtroom; it felt good to be in the limelight, "Murderers usually don't bring their pets along to a killing. I believe this could clear some things up."

"That does bring up a valid point," said the judge, rubbing his chin.

"Do I have to go to the stand, or can I just talk from here?" Ken said. "I'm only going to talk about my dog."

"I doubt he would lie about his pet, your honor." I added.

The gavel sounded once again.

"Testimony is testimony. Let the defendant take the stand."

There was a bit of discussion amongst the audience while Mortimer left the witness stand, sweating mildly. Ken took his place.

"My dog's name is Toucan. He's a Great Dane, and loves to wrestle. He can be a bit jumpy at times, especially around loud noises. During the shooting, I was too distracted with what I saw and the leash slipped through my fingers. After the murder, I dropped the gun and ran away; Toucan didn't immediately cross my mind until I got home."

The judge blinked, "Did the defendant just say what I thought he said?"

"I think so your honor," Ian Vice's wide smile was back, in all of its glory. "I believe the witness just testified that after the murder, he 'dropped the gun and ran.' Is the witness making a confession?"

Ken looked down so that his black hair covered his eyes. "Excuse me? My fingerprints were on that gun. Yes, I was holding it in my right hand, but I did not kill anyone."

"Nonsense!" Ian Vice was having a field day. "We checked the bullet found in the body! The ballistic markings match the gun! Whoever was holding the gun is the murderer!"

Ken was silent for a long moment. "I believe our previous witness' testimony did have one truth in all of the lies."

"W-what?" Ian was holding his chest, as if wounded. "How dare you-!"

"He said that 'a guy shot a guy, and one of those guys is in this court right now', didn't he?" Ken glanced up to the audience; he looked exceptionally calm. "That statement was true, even though everything else was false. I could tell you what I witnessed that evening, but we'll all just have to wait for the defense's opportunity to prove it."

I pulled at the collar on my suit. I was feeling intensely itchy all of the sudden. "Your honor, c-can we please just get on with the cross-examination?"

"Yes, of course. Please, let's get this over with."

"Mr. Cline, a Great Dane is a very big dog, isn't it?"

"Yes sir, Toucan is rather large."

I stood up and walked closer to the witness stand. "Wouldn't that make wrestling with him a bit dangerous?"

"Yeah, I've taken my fair share of losses. But I've been keeping score of our matches, and so far, we're tied."

_He… keeps score of wrestling matches with his dog. That's Ken Cline all right._

"You said that he doesn't like loud noises. How does he react to them?"

"Err, violently." Ken smiled and held his hand behind his head.

"What do you mean?"

"Well, he'll try to attack the source of the noise, I've spent thousands on new washing machines, but Toucan always manages to tear them up."

The judge looked to me. "Mr. Truth, did you find anything important in that bit?"

I went back to my chair and sat back in it. There was a meaning to this information, but what? Time to check the court record; I'm sensing a big logic jump.

"Yes, I believe this information is important, please have it added to his testimony."

"Very well," the judge swung down his gavel. "Mr. Cline, please amend your testimony."

"Uh, sure." He gave me a 'wtf?' look. The judge gave me a hopelessly oblivious look, and Ian Vice shined his best 'fawgodssakes' look.

Ken folded his arms. "My dog reacts aggressively to loud noises, but I don't think this has anything to do with the crime."

"And that's where I have you. That's where I have all of you." I smiled so wide I was afraid Ian would accuse me of plagiarism. "This is the key to the entire case!"

Now everyone's face was identical, intense confusion.

"Do I even have to ask? What does this dog have anything to do with this?" Ian was hysterical with laughter; more and more fusing his visage with that of a hyena.

"I'm afraid I'm going to have to ask as well." The judge once again stared in my direction. "Do you have evidence that shows the dog is quote, 'the key to the entire case'?"

This theory of mine was going to take a lot to explain to everyone, and one piece of evidence is the link. What shows the importance of Ken's dog's aggressive nature towards loud noises? Which piece of evidence can clearly show how Ken's dog affected the case?


	5. Chapter 5

"This is my evidence; the mysterious GLOVE!"

I wanted to make the presentation as dramatic as possible, so I tried to point my finger and show the evidence at the same time. I ended up throwing the glove at the judge.

I sat down immediately and covered my face.

"If the defense does not want to be charged with assault, they will explain their case now." His face was getting red.

I cleared my throat and stood up; my knees were shaking slightly.

"P-please recall the defendant's testimony. Toucan reacts violently to loud noises, and I'm sure we're all aware that a gun was fired at the scene of the crime?"

"I believe that is more than obvious." The judge said, looking at the ceiling.

"Guns make loud noises, don't they? I believe if so little noise as a washing machine can make this dog go off, no doubt a gunshot would have the same, if not more of an effect. So this brings us to the most important topic." I slammed my desk once again. "Why was this glove ripped? Because it was being worn by the killer when he shot the victim!"

Ian's eyes were open wide and his arms shot sideways; he let out a loud yelp, but it was barely heard over the din of the audience. It's cool to have this kind of effect on people.

"The dog would have attacked whoever shot the gun! And it seems that whoever was wearing this glove was the unfortunate soul on the other end of this dog's teeth!"

"Order! Order! I will have ORDEEEEEER!"

The rapid slamming of the gavel was lost in the chaos. _Okay people, that's enough, it's not THAT awesome._

Miraculously, the audience quieted down after a few minutes, everyone looked strained.

"B-but!" Ian was shaking his fist on the table, his face was a mess; you couldn't tell if it was a frown or a smile. "W-what does that prove? The glove could have been the defendant's! The dog could have attacked its own master!"

"That's impossible; may I remind the court that my client's fingerprints are on the murder weapon? People of the court, if you happen to be wearing a glove, do you honestly think you'd put your fingerprints on a murder weapon?" I smiled; this was perhaps the first time fingerprints on a murder weapon proved that person innocent.

Suddenly, to everyone's surprise, Ian began to laugh… more hysterically than ever before. He held his hand over his face and laughed for over a minute. _Is this going to become a regular thing with him?_

When all had quieted down, Ian crossed his arms. "Gordon Truth, is it?"

"Yes it is." I nodded. Now was the time to get serious.

"We finally meet again." He looked me in the eyes for the first time in ten years.

"Yes we do." I grinned.

"You're as ridiculous and foolish as ever."

"You're as pompous and oblivious as ever, Ian."

He shrugged. "I'm guessing you're going to accuse my witness for the murder of Mr. Slotts now?"

I nodded again. "That should be obvious."

"Once again, I must be the one to point out your 'obvious' mistakes. There are currently two things wrong with your theory. One, you have yet to prove any possible motive or connection between the victim and witness. And two, take another look at the glove. There is no DNA evidence on or inside, meaning that it was never worn by anyone with a hand." He grinned at my now smile-less face.

"Wait. Let me get this straight." The judge screwed his face up in concentration. "The defense is accusing the witness?"

"Yes it is your honor." I pointed to the prosecution. "And the defense demands the witness re-take the stand and testify about his relationship with the victim."

Ian stood up "OBJECTION! I can already tell you that my witness has no such connection!"

"Then let the witness come up and say it under oath!"

"That would only succeed in wasting the court's time!"

The gavel sounded once again. The judge stood up in his chair for the first time today.

"I would like the witness to testify not only about any possible connection to the victim, but I would like to hear his response to the whole glove thing as well. All in all, there are many unanswered questions I believe only the witness can clear up. Please, call the witness to the stand."

"G-gladly, your honor." Ian didn't look as glad as he implied.

"The court will take a ten minute recess while the witness is being called. Court is adjourned!"

---------------------------------

"Do you think I made the right call?" We were in the defense lounge, readying for the trial to come.

"Well, you did put on quite the show in there. You performed impressively for a newbie." Benjamin sipped on a soda. "To tell you the truth though, that glove had me thinking from the beginning. And I knew Ken's dog would come up sooner or later."

"I wish he's literally come up to me. I'm really starting to miss him."

"Of course you do, you can't leave your wrestling competition tied. There is perhaps no worse sin of man that keeping two competitors apart." He finished his soda and rested his head on the arm of the couch.

"Oh Ken, I've been meaning to ask you." I leaned over my chair and faced my client. "Do you happen to remember anything regarding Toucan during the murder?"

Ken shook his head. "I really can't remember anything about him. But, now that you mentioned it in court, I seem to think he did have some kind of reaction to the gunshot. I think that was when the leash slipped out of my hands." He closed his eyes. "Can we stop talking about him now? I'm getting depressed."

"Sir, the recess is over," the bailiff shot into the lounge. "You are requested in court."

"This is it," Benjamin held my shoulder, "the final testimony. I'll try to help as much as I can, but the rest is all up to you. Let's get out there!"

"Unstoppable Defenders of Justice?"

"You got it."

"Hey, is that a club of some kind? Y'all have matching jackets?" Ken joked as we began toward the courtroom.

---------------------------------

Everyone seemed nervous. The witness was sweating, already re-taking his place on the stand. The court watched as he was sworn-in yet again, and we all took our seats at the sound of the almighty gavel.

"Witness, the defense has accused you of the murder of Owen Slotts. How do you respond to this?"

Mortimer was silent; he then looked at me from the stand. "I don't think the defense is fully aware of who they're dealing with."

The judge smacked his gavel. "Then you deny the accusation? Of course, we'll have to hear your testimony. Do you know the extent of the defense's argument?"

"Sure," another eerie stare in my direction. "I'm quite aware."

_His face… he looks like a whole different person._

"Then please begin your testimony."

Mr. Runway cleared his throat. "Seriously, this is some sort of joke. How does a torn glove with nothing on it prove I'm a murderer? You can't prove that some dog tore it apart, and even if that's true, you can't prove that it's mine. And why would I want to kill Mr. Slotts? I've never met the guy, and he probably didn't have a cent on him."

Benjamin tapped my shoulder. "You detecting fishiness?"

I nodded, "Fishiness detected alright."

"You claim that you do not know the victim, you seem to be quite sure that he 'didn't have a cent on him."

The witness flinched, he knew he slipped up. "Look, h-he was wearing this cheap, sick-looking white tux. It pretty much screams 'I have no money but I like to look like it.'"

"Well it appears your observation was wrong. Not only did Mr. Slotts win money against the defendant, but if we check the casino record presented earlier, he mysteriously won every single bet he placed a day earlier!"

Mortimer doubled back, flinging his hands above his head. "Ahh… w-what?"

"He was carrying at least $2,500 with him at the time, and he obviously had much more to his name!"

"No, no, no!" Mortimer slammed his left hand on the stand, making a dull thud echo across the courtroom. "You've got it all wrong! He was in the ditch! He owed money from here to halfway across the world! There wasn't a cent to his name!"

"Hold it!" Ian shouted suddenly. The court shifted attention to him. "Yes, I believe the witness is right. I-I researched Owen Slotts, and it appears that he, err, owes lots to ever major bank in town."

"Yeah, that's right!" The witness bit his thumb. "Everyone knows that!"

"Objection!" I pointed my finger at the witness. "Sorry Mortimer, but your devious prosecutor won't succeed in driving away your suspicion. I doubt anyone knows Owen's secret, except for maybe… someone he owes money to?"

"Hey, what exactly are you driving at?" the witness's eyes were darting everywhere.

"Actually, I believe when you first stepped up to give your testimony, we skipped a vital part of the witness initiation!"

"What?"

Ian held his chest again, sweat pouring down his face. "No, wait!"

"Whaaaaaaaat?" The judge yelled. "Who exactly are you accusing here? Are you saying my court is a sham?"

I sighed loudly, "No! Of course not! Your honor, you know what every witness has to tell the court before giving testimony. I believe our Mr. Runway skipped a vial part of his introduction!" I showed my best smug smile.

The crack of the gavel rag out. "Tell us Mr. Truth, what exactly did the witness skip in his initiation?"

_Okay, this is easy. There are two things he could have skipped, his name, or his occupation. This is pretty obvious._

"I'll tell you what! The witness never told us his occupation!"

"He-he didn't?" The judge looked incredibly surprised. "Well, I can't believe we missed that! I doubt this really has anything to do with the situation at present, but still, we must obey the basic rules." He turned to the witness. "Mr. Mortimer Runway! You will tell the court your occupation!"

The entire court could feel the tension. The atmosphere felt instantly tight, ad the few moments of silence felt like an eternity. Suddenly, a scream rang out.

"AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!! MY NAAAAAAAAAAAME'S NOT MOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOORTIIIIIIIIIMEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEERRRRRRRRRRRR!!!!!!!" His hair flew upward, his arms shot above his shoulders and he flailed like a thrown rag doll.

Pure silence. And this time, for all I knew, it really could have been an eternity. Everyone was blinking in astonishment. The witness was crumbled over the witness stand, breathing heavily. His head flew up, and he slowly scratched the back of his neck.

"Um. I'm a… a…. a paperboy?" He grinned sheepishly at the courtroom.

No one bought it.

"The witness will tell us his occupation, no matter how much he appears to… err, dislike it."

"I'm, I'm… I'm a… IAN!" he reached his arms toward the stunned prosecutor. "HELP ME!"

The judge broke the ice. "Mr. Vice. He's your witness. If he seems to have such a problem telling us his job, maybe you could do it for us."

At first, I thought Ian was going to freak out like Mr. Runway just did. But eventually, he pulled out a paper; arms twitching, and addressed the court.

"Mr. Mortimer Runway… is a member of the New York Mob."

The chaos of the ensuing riot was so entirely dense and explosive; the judge was forced to call another ten minute recess. This case had just taken another turn, but was it for the better, or for the worse?"


	6. Chapter 6

"This trial has dragged on long enough." Ben was pacing in the defense lounge. I took my chair near the vending machine, and Ken took Ben's place on the couch. "It needs to end, and the only way it can end is with Mr. Mortercycle Runway behind bars for murder."

"It's so obvious the mafia had something to do with this. A man in serious debt is dead; a casino was rigged for him to win every bet on the 2nd, a motorcycle gang cornering the victim? I should have seen the New York Mob's involvement in this sooner."

"Hey man." Ken looked up from his restful position on the couch. "Don't freak out, I know how much you hate the mob, but this is Gordon's case, let him see it through."

"I should have KNOWN!" Benjamin slammed into the vending machine, almost toppling it over. "No wonder that scum-bag of a prosecutor is heading the trial! He's a mob underling! Paid to protect 'the family' or whatever the hell they are!"

"Whoa, whoa." I stood up. "There's enough of a commotion outside without you adding to it. We just need to make sure the blame ends up on Mr. Mobster, and we'll pull out of this fine."

Benjamin sat down. "You're right. I apologize for losing my temper." He buried his head in his knees. "I just wish this day were over."

"Gordon," Ken faced me. "I'm counting on you; you've been doing great so far. We need just a little bit more, just hang on to the truth, see this through, please."

I looked my friend in the eyes. "I promise, in an hour you'll be a free man."

He smiled. "That's the Gordon Truth I know. Welcome back, buddy."

----------------------------------

Finishing the day was on everyone's mind as we re-entered the courtroom. I noticed there were many more police officers this time around, and the bailiff looked scared out of his wits. Mr. Runway was escorted back to the stand, I had the feeling that even if we lost the trail, the witness wouldn't be off scot-free, I had made sure of that.

"I believe there is some explaining for the witness to do. Mr. Runway, do you understand what your next testimony should include?"

"I'm…. I'm ready to begin your honor." Mortimer closed his eyes and took a deep breath.

"This is it Truth," Benjamin smiled beside me, "he's been hiding this mafia personality from the beginning. He's about to go down."

Mortimer straightened his back and began to speak. "Yes, I am part of the mafia. And I know Mr. Slotts from what I've heard of him in the mob. Apparently, as a last resort, he begged us to fix the casino for him so he would win money to pay off his debts. Of course, this service comes with a price. Let's just call it a large loan. When all is said and done, we need the money back, it was part of the deal. Two days ago, I went to the casino and placed some of my men there. After persuading the casino owner, everything went according to plan. But as it turns out, Mr. Slotts thought he'd pay off other debts first, he went back to the casino the next day expecting the same service he had the day we fixed the attractions. He managed a little win, but he still didn't want to pay us back yet. … But, that's all I have to say. I'm not admitting anything, I'm tired and I want to go home."

The judge pounded his gavel. "So, I guess this case was a smidge more complex than we all expected it to be. Now we have the mob involved. Mr. Truth, care to make a cross-examination?"

"Yes, your honor."

Once again, I stood and paced in front of the witness.

"I think we're all familiar with the mafia's version of 'persuasion'. Perhaps this is what caused you to mix up the dates of the murder. Perhaps you got the 'persuasion' confused with your attempt to make your customer pay back his debt?"

"Ack!" Mortimer jumped.

"Objection!" Ian Vice pointed across the courtroom, "There is no evidence for the defense's claims! This line of questioning is nothing but speculation!"

"Oh, I don't disagree, it just happens to…" I glanced at the witness, "make sense."

I came closer to the man on the stand. "And now you're saying this has nothing to do with the murder? You work for the mob; Owen Slotts owed the mob money. It only makes sense they'd send a goon to take care of the job."

I could feel the objection sitting on the tip of Ian's tongue, but luckily he must have decided against it.

"The murder weapon has the defendant's fingerprints on it, not mine. So what if I'm part of the mob? That doesn't change what I saw."

"No, but it gives you more than enough motive. And you were pretty keen on keeping your relationship with the mafia hidden from the court."

"Of course I was! I didn't want anyone to find out! You see the policemen in here; just think what they're going to do to me when this is over."

"Sir, my client told me something interesting before the case."

He raised a brow, "and what was that?"

"If it pleases the court, I know that I cannot prove what my client says is true, but he told me that a man wearing gloves threw the pistol at him, and he caught it with his free hand."

"And you're saying that I was that gloved man?" He was keeping cool, but I knew he was tensing up.

"Yes I am. We know that a dog that hates loud noises was at the scene of the crime. One shooter, one torn glove, only one outcome."

"But you forget, that glove had no DNA inside or outside of it besides the blood of the victim. How could I wear it?"

There is was again, the last roadblock I had to maneuver around. _I'm so close to breaking this case! Think… how is this possible?_

_There are three possibilities. Either the forensics on the glove are a sham, the glove itself is irrelevant, or, and this is puzzling; is he telling the truth?_

"Mr. Truth!" the gavel fell once again. "Please share your thoughts with us. What is the meaning of this glove?"

I rubbed my chin. "Even though I believe Ian's reputation isn't as spotless as it could be, I doubt he could fabricate forensic testing. The glove is certainly relevant, not only did the murderer try to hide it, but it's basically the mark of the killer, whoever was wearing the glove that night is the guilty party…"

"And that means?" The judge, along with everyone else in the courtroom, was on the edge of their seats.

I faced the witness. "…Say, Mr. Runway. Ever get into any accidents on that Motorcycle of yours? Any 'misfires' on the job?"

"Wha-What are you insinuating!" He was sweating bullets now.

"I'm saying... that you're pretty good at your job… for someone who is handicapped."

"W-w-w-w-wh-wh-wha-whaaaaaaat?" Everyone held their breath.

I pointed directly at my victim. "I can see it as we speak. The hand on your left arm is not made of flesh and bone. You have a FAKE LEFT HAND!!!"

"W-w-wh-wh-n-n-n-n-no-NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!"

Again, he threw his hands in the air and flailed. For more than five minutes he flailed. Ian was on the verge of fainting, and I felt almost the same way.

"AUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUGGGHHH!!"

And with one last burst of anger, he slammed his porcelain hand onto the stand, where it slowly began to crack. It cracked until it shattered into a thousand pieces. He laid his head down on the stand and stayed there until the police escorted him away.

"Mr. Vice, where is Mr. Runway?"

"H-he's in the witness lounge, awaiting arrest and upcoming trial."

The judge shook his head. "This was certainly one of the most outlandish cases I've ever presided over. But some questions remain; what exactly happened the night of the murder?"

"Allow me to summarize." I snapped my fingers in triumph. "Owen Slotts was shoulder-deep in debt to banks all over the country due to his gambling addiction. In a last cry of desperation, he got the mob to fix all of his winnings at the local casino after again losing a large amount of money the day before. Happy with the outcome, Owen was quick to pay off his growing bank debts. … But it still wasn't enough. Not only was he not completely out of debt, but he had a new debtor, the New York Mob. Unaware that he had already spent all of his money repaying debts, he was unable to pay back the loan from the mob. The mob sees that this pitiful man will never get back on his feet in time to repay, so they send a goon to take him out. After a night at the casino, the victim is cornered in an alleyway and shot once fatally with a pistol. But what our goon didn't count on was a witness." I presented the dog leash. "Ken Cline was out walking his dog after coming home from the same casino. Not only did he witness the crime, but his dog reacted aggressively to the near gunshot and began to attack the murderer. He bit at his left hand and ripped the glove, and most likely that fake hand itself, clean off. The dog most likely dropped the hand near the body of the victim as he ran away. The goon, surprised, threw his pistol at the witness and yelled 'catch!' in a somewhat successful attempt to blame the murder on someone else. When Mr. Cline dropped the pistol and ran in fear, Mr. Runway, our goon, picked up his fake hand and, seeing the rip on the leather glove, deposited the glove in a nearby dumpster."

I saw every eye on me. For a moment, my mouth hung open and I suddenly lost my train of thought. After a moment I regained my composure and concluded my deduction.

"That is all, your honor."

That was it, my case was won. I emerged from my first case not only alive, but triumphant.

"Well, this case has taken many turns. Mr. Truth, let me congratulate you on your performance today. I doubt anyone but you would have been able to prove this man innocent, which is something you have done admirably. If we are all done here, I would like to pass my verdict."

The gavel slammed.

Two words were said, "Not Guilty."

I am victorious.

I am on top of the world.

I am Gordon Truth, Ace Attorney, and this is my story.

-----------------------------------

"_Sir, I have some news…"_

"_Coming from you, Ian, I'm expecting the good kind."_

"_Well, um… not this time, sir."_

"_What are you talking about?"_

"_Sir, the case fell through. Mortimer Runway was found guilty for the murder of Owen Slotts."_

"…"

"_Sir? Please respond!"_

"_Ian Vice?"_

"_Yes Sir!"_

"_This is the first time you've failed me. So for this, I will let you learn your own lessons. However…"_

"… _Yes sir?"_

"… _Fail me again, and I won't be so merciful."_

"_O-of course sir. Understood."_

"_One last thing…"_

"_Anything sir!"_

"_Who was the defense attorney?"_

"_The defense attorney?"_

"_Yes Ian, tell me."_

"_It was… Gordon. Gordon Truth."_

"…"

"_Sir, I know it's… strange…"_

"_This is getting too complex and uncomfortable. Gordon Truth was a nuisance before and I don't want him becoming one again. Next time you face him in court, make sure you win."_

"_Y-yes sir."_

'Click'

Greg Violet crossed his palms and wheeled his chair around to stare out the window. People asked him why he had a window built in his office, seeing as it was almost a mile underground. But he enjoyed staring at the uneven levels of earth. It soothes him.

The speaker on his desk switched on. "Boss, you're needed at location C, we're commencing the first part of our plan."

He pressed the button of the speaker. "Not now Sava, leave me be. I have things to think over." The speaker made a dull beep, indicating the discussion was over.

_So, Gordon Truth, you come to ruin me again. Why do you try? You will never succeed. … I am looking forward to meeting you again, for the last time._


End file.
